


Filling empty pages

by Wortspiel, Zeitvergessen (Wortspiel)



Series: Timeless - Nobody is expendable [1]
Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Attempt at Humor, Awkward Romance, Banter, Coffee, Endgame Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston, Even more coffee, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Feels, Fix-It of Sorts, Flereal, Flucy - Freeform, Flurtleneck, Garcia Flynn Deserves Better, Garcia Flynn Lives, Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston-centric, I beforehand apologize for the one or other Disney reference, I can't write Jiya for some reason, I'm Bad At Tagging, Jealousy, Lucy Preston's Journal, Mutual Pining, POV Garcia Flynn, POV Lucy Preston, Post-Season/Series 02, Protective Garcia Flynn, RMS Titanic, Sassy Garcia, garcy, mostly canon compliant - might contain minor changes to make this work, nobody is expendable, pre final movie, there might be a few
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23551906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wortspiel/pseuds/Wortspiel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wortspiel/pseuds/Zeitvergessen
Summary: Lucy stares down on the empty journal page, pencil ready in hand to write. But she is unsure. Unsure how to phrase, what she is trying to convey, without leading them into a wrong direction. Not that there is right and wrong in this entire endeavor. Not anymore. Too much has happened and changed to determine, which path is the ‘correct one’. Or if there actually is something as ‘the right path’. She doesn’t believe in that. But she knows something her past self doesn’t. And it’s so, so very important.
Relationships: Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston, Jessica Logan/Wyatt Logan, Rufus Carlin & Jiya, Wyatt Logan & Lucy Preston
Series: Timeless - Nobody is expendable [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695091
Comments: 36
Kudos: 64





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Dear readers, MAJOR SPOILERS ahead for the Timeless finale, so please don’t read on, if you haven’t watched it. 
> 
> I know I’m a bit late with this. Always am, with fanfiction, for some reason. But I’m still so not okay with poor Flynn ending up as an unidentified lonely body on some sand dunes. I know there's lots of amazing fanwork already, but I'd like to give it a try myself. So, here’s my alternate timeline, an attempt to give him an ending he deserves. It might be complete nonsense for I am not exceptionally versed in American history. But I’ll try my very best to tell you a story, that soothes the rough ending of Flynn’s and Lucy’s tale. Have fun diving into this project with me.

Lucy stares down on the empty journal page, pencil ready in hand to write. But she is unsure. Unsure how to phrase, what she is trying to convey, without leading them into a wrong direction. Not that there is right and wrong in this entire endeavor. Not anymore. Too much has happened and changed to determine, which path is the ‘correct one’. Or if there actually _is_ something as ‘the right path’. She doesn’t believe in that. But she knows something her past self doesn’t. And it’s so, _so_ very important.

She rubs her forehead and heaves an exasperated sigh. Again, she sets the lead onto the paper. And draws it away, seconds later.

She proceeds like this, over and over, indecisive – until the heavy weight of two large hands comes to rest on her tired shoulders. She instantly, intuitively, relaxes into the familiar warmth he radiates behind her back and leans against his chest.

He remains silent, but his sole presence eventually helps her to form a sentence to begin with.

Again, she brings pencil to paper and lead scratches across rough white.

_Dear Lucy,_

_this may be strange, for I am addressing you, my former self, personally in this text…_


	2. Chapter 2

They bunker was shrouded in silence. Every single team member had eventually wandered off to sort their thoughts, to mourn death and loss, to ponder their options. As had Lucy.

Mind racing restlessly without a certain aim, she cowered on her cot. Wyatt had left her alone to read, but she couldn't find herself able to focus on anything at all.

Again, she was leafing through the battered journal. Some of the pages and pictures were achingly familiar. Others not so much. It underlined the impression that there wasn't a golden thread. Or fate. Something they were bound to.

The Lucy in that improved Lifeboat had not been her. Not even her future self. That woman had lived through events, made decisions, that she would never see. Which meant, somewhere through their own tiny part of history, they had taken different paths leading to a different outcome of their initial situation. There was choice. There was room to act. To bend and change.

That sudden awareness made her body tingle with an ugly mixture of hope and dread. There was so much at stake. So much to save. And so much more to lose. Just one single poorly made decision - and everything they fought for went down the drain. And each and every one of them carried this burden for as long as they stood tall in their twisted fight against Rittenhouse.

Again, her eyes fell upon the faded picture of the Titanic. But she did not read the text framing it. A few lines had been enough to send her mind spiraling again. She didn’t dare overthinking the part involving herself. Instead she busied herself wondering for what reason Rittenhouse would be placing a sleeper on said ship. The repercussions of the sinking Titanic had been severe, having impact on both practical and emotional level on the entire northern hemisphere. Constant radio contact was made mandatory in sea travel afterwards. As was the requirement of having enough lifeboats for the entire count of people aboard. Even an international ice patrol had been established to prevent the tragedy from repeating itself. The world and its people had been shaken awake, overthinking their lives and their behavior in it. It had practically been the end of a golden age.

But what would Rittenhouse gain, changing anything about it? What had been their goal? How was it woven into their perverse plans? Had they been trying to save the ship from sinking entirely? Or had they been trying to sink it without any survivors to tell their story? And why hadn’t it happened at all? Had the sleeper never been placed there in this timeline? Had he simply not been activated for some reason?

Questions tumbled over questions in her head and she couldn’t make any sense of it. She was about to tell herself to forget about it and focus back on finding hints to save Rufus, when the distinct alarm of the Mothership moving cut her ruminations short.

***

Lurking around the base was not an option. Despite his time spent here and the tremendous effort he put into supporting the team wherever he could, Garcia Flynn still wasn’t a welcome guest. Not that it surprised him.

His previous encounters with Lucy and her quirky makeshift family had not been very… tender. And he had to admit, he was as snarky as he’d ever be, given the months he had spent in ad seg, the situation he was now in and the future events that were to unfurl around them. If he relied on that trusty journal, that was. Not everything in it had become their past and present, but some things seemed… fixed. Inevitable. Time was a bitch. A realization he had been forced to accept way too early.

Sleeping wasn’t an option either for several reasons. For one thing, adrenalin had worn off and so had the painkillers. The wounded muscle in his shoulder was searing painfully with every minor movement. It wasn’t serious. But still it was annoying as hell.

For another thing he wasn’t keen on living through another horridly guilt-ridden nightmare, if he didn’t have to. It was enough that these dreadful dreams had claimed his night’s sleep more frequently over the last few weeks.

Turning onto his good side, he stared holes into the shabby furniture across the room. This base really was a dump. And the food was atrocious, except for the multitude of diverse cereal boxes. Still better than jail, though. At least the risk of getting stabbed with kitchenware was decidedly lower here. Unless he went on provoking Soldier Boy.

The sudden shrill of the alert bell had him jerk up in bed in an instant. So soon? Rigorously stifling growing discomfort and forcing the mask of smug impassiveness back onto his features, Flynn left his quarters to meet the others in the landing zone.

***

Lucy was the last to step into the open space, that was their provisory mission control center. Connor was already furiously typing away and reading out data from several screens, as Denise and Flynn filed in from the opposite direction, just ahead of her.

Wyatt and Jiya, anxiety written all over her face, were already standing by, awaiting information and instructions.

As Connor turned, there was confusion written all over his face.

“Southampton,“ he said and it dawned on Lucy, “10th of April, 1912. That’s the day the Titanic put to sea for her maiden voyage, isn’t it?”

Dizziness overcoming her, she nodded, automatism taking over as she professionally shared the information of said event and the following well-known tragedy. She went on with the trail of consequences, that changes in history might entail and her uncertainty about the aim behind it. All the while her eyes were rooted to the Lifeboat, unable to focus on any of the people surrounding her. She could imagine Wyatt tensing, Denise frowning, Connor’s confusion and Jiya’s desperation of being thrown back in saving Rufus. Flynn? She could only imagine him listening and raising a single brow. Did he _remember_?

“Lucy? _Lucy._ ”

Agent Christopher’s incisive call of her name brought her back to the present conversation.

“This wasn’t meant to happen.”

“None of this was meant to happen. That’s why we’re here.”

It was all she could do, not to sigh deeply. Denise was right after all. Still she argued on.

“I know that. But _this_ wasn’t meant to happen _now._ If that journal I – the one I gave myself, is correct, Titanic would have happened later on.”

“She’s right about that,” Flynn acceded. Great, so he _did_ remember.

“So why now?” She ended and looked into each face respectively for answers. She found questions, irritation and uncertainty instead.

“Does it matter?” Denise asked, eyeing her with a hint of suspicion.

 _Yes!_ , thought Lucy, “No.”

She shuffled uncomfortably as all eyes fixed on her.

“Not essentially. I didn’t read further into it. The given information went off track after the first few sentences. Not precisely much about the sleeper or Rittenhouse in it.”

While Denise furrowed her brow, she chose not to probe further, and Lucy felt exceptionally grateful for that. It was a personal diary after all. Instead the older woman addressed the entire team.

“Alright. As far as we know, Rittenhouse has smuggled a sleeper into either crew or passengers of the Titanic. And whatever their aim might be, a change will have drastic effects on history and our present. Be it saving powerful or influential people, killing them off or preventing the entire tragedy in the first place. Our best bet is to eradicate the sleeper, before he boards the ship. If that is not possible, it will be your task to find him and eliminate him before,” she halted, considered her choice of words and went on with caution, “before the ship is meant to sink.”

“What about Rufus?”

The interjection came from Jiya. Over the entire conversation she had been silent, but Lucy had been right on her guess. Despair was evident in her expression.

“Future Lucy said we’d need him to defeat Rittenhouse. We can’t go without him or we’ll achieve nothing-”

Agent Christopher cut her short with shaking her head. Her face was apologetic, but strict. There was no discussion in this matter.

“Jiya, we all want Rufus back. But we need to act now. If Rittenhouse changes the past without at least one of us there, we won’t ever know about it. Who knows what damage that would cause? We cannot take that risk. We _will_ save Rufus. Right when we’re done with this. And then we’ll end Rittenhouse once and for all.”

Her words hung heavy in the air and Jiya lowered her gaze to contemplate the situation. Eventually, she took a steady breath and forced herself to straighten.

“Alright. I’ll pilot.”

Denise nodded, obviously thankful for Jiya’s cooperation.

“Lucy, Wyatt and Flynn will accompany you. Get ready to leave immediately.”

A second of silence passed until each of them hurried off to prepare for their imminent departure. Lucy was tempted to head back to her room and have another glance at the journal. To arrange herself for what was to come. But something kept her from doing it. Instead, she remained with Connor, going through the details.

“We can’t land the Lifeboat on the Titanic. It’d inevitably draw attention and we can’t let that happen. Please,” she heard him say, “take out that sleeper before the ship leaves port. If you must board it, you’ll be stuck there until – well, until it sinks.”

***

Flynn had traded the sling on his arm for a gun in the base’s storage space. He loaded it, engaged the safety and holstered it to his side, when Wyatt marched in purposefully. Spotting the larger man, he stopped short and both men regarded each other dismissively before turning back to their respective tasks. Silence ensued as they prepared themselves.

Until Wyatt spoke, distrust dripping from his voice.

“I read it. Bits of it.”

No further explanation was needed. Both of them knew exactly what he was talking about.

“Congratulations.”

Flynn ignored the sound of a flat hand hitting some innocent surface in anger at his reply. He simply raised a brow as he slid his aching arm into his leather jacket.

“Dammit, Flynn, I’m serious! If you hurt Lucy-“

“I though you read it?” He replied, his own voice calm and deliberate. “No worries then, are there?”

Wyatt’s frown darkened considerably, as he picked up his gun to load it. Provoking an armed, jealous soldier probably wasn’t the wisest choice in his life by far, but it was least he cared for at this point.

“Better pack your floaties, eh? Just in case.”

With that he left Wyatt alone and fuming and strode back to meet the others to board the Lifeboat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, happy easter (belatedly) to you all!   
> The next chapter is up, let's head for the Titanic.
> 
> Have fun reading. :)

Flynn winced as he struggled to fasten his seatbelt, occupying the seat opposite of Lucy. He could feel her eyes on him as he did.

“Hey, is your arm okay?” He heard her ask, successfully clicking the belt into its buckle.

“It’s fine.” He replied simply, pointing at the cut in her lip to get her off the issue.

“You’ve got a little bit of somethin’ here-“

He gesticulated to his own lips to show her the general direction.

“Make-up can only cover so much.”

Well, topic successfully avoided.

Not that there would have been any chance to deepen it further with Wyatt around and Jiya discovering the new Lifeboat’s autopilot. Anyone could fly it? Now that was interesting.

***

They reached their planned destination in their usual style: Lifeboat parked, well hidden in a remote piece of dense forest, they discreetly found their way into the city and got their hands on four fitting sets of clothing. Straight after that, they set off to the port.

“So, how’re we going to find a sleeper here? He could be anywhere. We don’t even know if he’s passenger or crew?” Asked Jiya as they wound their way through groups of people going about their everyday life.

“Crew, most likely,” said Wyatt and Flynn took the opportunity to butt in.

“Correct. If they’re aiming to change anythin’, it’d be best to put somebody in a place where he can influence the voyage. Probably with permission to enter crucial parts of the ship. Either engineer, able seaman or probably officer I’d reckon.”

Wyatt shot him a resentful glance and it made him smirk. It was so easy to provoke the man. Sometimes he wondered how the ‘Time Team’, as they had - ridiculously enough - christened themselves, had been able to overtake him wherever he went through history. Sure, they had Lucy’s most impressive knowledge to lead and aid them, but with Wyatt’s short temper and tendency to just do whatever he deemed right, it was honestly an accomplishment contrary to any expectation.

Jiya hummed in understanding. “But we don’t know if it’s just one, right?”

“We do, actually. At least if I can trust the journal on that point.”

His smirk faded as Lucy went on.

“There’s only talk of one sleeper that is, at some point, below the deck, where we’ll find him shortly before the ship sinks.”

Jiya stopped at that and stared at her.

“So, you mean - We’re really gonna have to get _on_ that ship and… _sink_ with it? You know the rate of survival wasn’t that high, right?”

“We won’t, if we can find them before it departs. And we’ll try! But if there’s any truth in that journal entry, we might have to do exactly that, yes.”

 _Oh_ a _lright, she doesn’t want it to be true, so there’s that_ ; he thought as he followed the suddenly very silent team around a corner. Not that he was aiming to. The foretold outcome wasn’t that compelling.

***

They _had_ tried. Very eagerly so. To no avail. Despite having insight on the crew lists, through Lucy’s intel and their combined effort of very persuasive and inventive lies, there was nothing evidently out of order. Nothing amiss. No officer known by name had been replaced. At least to their limited knowledge. Consequently, there was no other choice.

After some more improvised but ingenious untruths, they found themselves aboard the ship among the passengers. Second class, but still sufficiently luxurious. And weirdly enough, with the prospect of being stuck on this ill-fated vessel, Flynn enjoyed the icy sea air breezing through his neatly combed hair. It was a welcome diversion from the ever so stale atmosphere of their base.

“She’s not you wife!” Grumbled Wyatt by his side, as both women had wandered off to lean against the railing and wave goodbye to nobody in particular. Despite their situation, both of them seemed quite enthusiastic to be actually, _really_ travelling on _the_ Titanic. Bit cliché.

Flynn sunk back against the cool riveted metal wall and crossed his arms. He immediately uncrossed them and stuffed his hands into his pockets instead, as his muscle complained against the action.

“She isn’t yours either, if I remember correctly. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten again,” he replied, barely containing his grim amusement.

“And it wasn’t even my idea. Don’t blame me.”

The younger man harrumphed in disapproval. That Lucy had chosen to share a room with her ‘husband’ Flynn instead of him or at least Jiya, had clearly thrown him off track. It had been a rushed decision to maintain their frail construct of lies, but Flynn couldn’t deny he was utterly content with the current development. Wyatt, meanwhile, was stuck with his ‘sister’ Jiya – Flynn was still baffled that they had bought that – and there was nothing the grumbling soldier could do about it. Nothing he should do, that is, if he didn’t want to blow their cover.

Both of their rented cabins were located on Deck E. As were many of the crew’s accommodations. A chance for them to snoop around and gather information as soon as everyone had fallen into a normal daily routine. Most of the passengers had already sauntered off to explore the, in all honesty, impressive luxury liner and their respective cabins. Curiosity and joviality were written on faces all around them and though Flynn did not show it, his stomach churned with the foresight of their dire fate lurking in icy water. Better not think about it.

Feigning indifference was something he'd quickly become an expert at throughout the forgone years. Partly to intimidate, partly to prevent himself from drowning in personal and historical tragedies all around him. Lucy had been the one to shake him awake, scream at his face, quite literally, that he was a father, a man capable of compassion and understanding.  
And while his ability to be impassive served him well in moments like these, he was immeasurably grateful to her for saving him from becoming who he pretended to be. From losing the last remaining fragments of his humanity.

And even now, as she didn’t notice him watching her hold that lovely summer hat to her hair against the sea breeze, she was slowly piecing him back together.

***

Their first day aboard had not been as efficient as each of them had wished for. They had split up, mingled with the crowd in an attempt to casually gather information and keep their eyes open for any kind of suspicious movement.

But there was absolutely _nothing_ out of place. People around them were enjoying their travel with such glee and relaxation, it hurt to watch. Four more days they had to go before the impending disaster.

For now, they had decided to retire to their quarters, rest and get another look around beneath the protective cloak of night.

Lucy was now sitting on the upper one of ( _thank heavens!_ ) two bunkbeds, alone, as Flynn had not been willing to give up on his search so readily. It was far past 11pm as a short knock and the click of their cabin’s door betrayed his otherwise silent entry.

Without as much as catching her gaze, he chucked a bunched piece of cloth to her and she caught it clumsily. Shaking it out, the bundle revealed to be a long nightdress, frilly and white overall, floral patterned along the sleeves and lower seam. She ogled it in surprise.

“Where did you get-? No, never mind. Just- Thanks, I guess?”

He shrugged, a crooked smile playing around his lips as he slipped out of his coat. Neatly folded, he laid it onto the sofa across the small room.

“Figured you’d sleep better in that.”

Now she was staring at _him_ , unconsciously though, watching quietly as he untied the maroon fly around his neck and slid his suspenders from each shoulder. She caught the minuscule twitch of his brow, as his damaged arm came into action. Only as he caught her lingering gaze, she quickly turned it elsewhere and went on talking.

“For now, everything seems to go as it should. Well, as far as we can tell. Most information we got about the Titanic’s maiden voyage reposes on claims and stories of traumatized survivors. Which are contradicting each other in a lot of more and less important aspects.”

“So,” he concluded, “we basically know nothin’ at all.”

“…yes.”

“Alright. Great. As soon as night’s fallen, we’re gonna go nose around. Get some sleep ‘til then. I’ll wake you.”

With a curt nod, she leaned her shoulder against the wall. When precisely, she wondered, had the prospect of Flynn waking her up in the dead of night turned from being utterly alarming to somewhat comforting? Knowing that he would be there, in this room with her, for the entire night soothed her underlying uneasiness. A shiver ran down her spine.

She didn’t look but heard the bed beneath her creak in protest as he sat on it and made himself comfortable. As best as he could, judging from the grouchy noises he was uttering. 

Other than that and the rustle of her clothes as she swiftly changed, they both fell silent and soon she found herself staring to the ceiling, nothing but the low hum of working engines and the sound of Flynn’s steady breathing in her ears. Sleep, however, seemed to be avoiding her. While her mind, very rationally, told her sleep or at least rest was absolutely crucial if they aimed to survive this, her racing mind would not let her have it. It seemed all so very surreal. More so than ever.

Still pondering about it, she felt herself doze off.

***

"Flynn?" She murmured, not quite sure how long she had been drifting between light slumber and complicated thoughts.  
  
A rough hum was his response.  
  
"Could this be a trap? For us, I mean?"  
  
For a while there came no answer. She wondered if he had fallen asleep on her but apparently, he was just contemplating her question.  
  
"Might be," he acceded eventually, and she heard him shift.  
  
It burned on her tongue - Telling him that all four of them, according to her journal, would be safe, nonetheless. Less for his sake than for her own. She didn't know if she could stand another personal loss. Not that there was any choice; Giving up their fight was not an option. But she didn't want to live through it again. Just didn’t _want_ to. Neither did he, she was sure of that.  
  
The journal entry was strangely calming in that aspect.  
But she did not dare speaking about it, for it would raise themes she wasn't quite ready to think, let alone speak about. Especially to him. And she was absolutely sure he’d read it as well, remembering their own ‘awkward moment’, as he had chosen to name it. So, she remained silent.  
  
"Sleep." He uttered a moment later and it was more of a command than a friendly counsel. With a sigh, she caved in and turned her back to the room.  
  
"Fine, good night."  
  


***

Her dream had been so surprisingly pleasant. So very relaxing she was tempted to bury deeper into the covers and ask the nagging voice to shut it and give her five more minutes. Instead, she recognized it and her eyes flew wide open to an unfamiliar room and a bed-ragged shock of dark hair peeking over the side of her mattress. Titanic. Flynn.

“Rise and shine, Rosebud!”

She groaned.

“Come on. Wyatt’s out, all worried, waiting to see I haven’t smothered you with my pillow.”

She did roll her eyes at that and sat up to peer down at his half-smirk. Oh, how tempting it was to smack him with hers now. Despite his pushing she noticed he was still in nothing but his slacks and shirtsleeves.

“I’m up, I’m up, alright. How about you turn, _husband_ , and let me dress then.”

That was even better than hitting him with her pillow. Garcia Flynn, time traveling thief and ruthless killer, gaping at her for joining in on his endless banter. He better not peeved her, when he’d just roused her from peaceful slumber.

Obediently he turned his back on her, smirk back in place, holstered his gun and slipped on his dark frock coat while she busied herself with changing back into the blue dress lying atop the foot of her bed. And Lucy, once again, discovered the good-natured gentleman he hid so well beneath those layers of blood, sass and smug humor.  
How long would it take to unearth those precious traits in this marred man?

***  
  


Wyatt indeed did seem concerned when she stepped out into the hall, nervously tapping his foot on the carpet and relief washing over his face at her appearance. It flattered her just as much as it irritated her. He hadn’t actually expected Flynn to assault her in any way, had he? Or was it some kind of unjust jealousy? Brushing it aside, she made room for Flynn to follow.

“Okay,” she murmured as they all stood hunched in a close circle, “we’ll split, as agreed. Jiya and me, we’ll have a closer look on Scotland Road. Wyatt and Flynn will go down and check on the Orlop Deck and Tank Top. Passengers aren’t allowed to go there, so _please_ , be careful. Both of you.”

She looked at each of them straight in the face. While Wyatt nodded, Flynn gave a little salute and winked.

“We’ll meet right here in, say, two hours max?”

All four nodded their agreement and after the men exchanged a wary glance, they were off into the direction of the closest staircase. Briefly Lucy wondered if it had been a good decision to send them off together, but neither herself, nor Jiya would have proven any helpful in their task. She could only put her trust in them and hope they’d work as a team at least this once.

A soft tug on her sleeve pulled her from her reverie.

“They’ll be fine,” Jiya assured her before they hurried into the opposite direction, past the closed barber shop and through the adjoining door.


	4. Chapter 4

Silently Lucy and Jiya stepped out into the long hallway. _Scotland Road_.

From their point of view, it was almost impossible to see the far end of it. It was disconcertingly silent.

Sneaking down the lengthy passageway, they drew nearer to the area in the ship’s bow, reserved for seamen only.

“And now?” Asked Jiya, suppressing a shiver as they snuck into a niche to use for their surveillance.

“We wait. There are lots of crew accommodations along the hall and in the bow. If someone leaves their quarters, we’ll be on their tail.”

***

Finding their way down into the lowest deck posed no challenge. Down and down the spiral staircase until there was no more flight of steps to take. The growl of rumbling engines, turbines and boilers was deafening here and even outside of the actual Tank Top a thin sheet of coal dust coated walls and floor. From the corner of his eye, Flynn saw Wyatt trail a finger along the metal wall, rubbing the soot between the tips of his thumb and index.

Neither of them dared to speak or even whisper as they stealthily made their way down the hall. Instead, falling back into occupational habits respectively, they relied on military hand gestures for communication.

Soon their caution proved to be superfluous. Not a single guard or even an engineer was around to hear them. Relaxing into their task, they first snuck into the storage rooms. It being a physical impossibility to search each and every piece of baggage for hints, they focused on checking for anything that would worsen the Titanic’s sinking. But there was nothing to be found. No out of place technology. No strategically installed charges. Nada.

So, they extended their search into the engine compartments. Regardless of the lack of evidence, which was consistently gnawing at Flynn’s depleting patience, their work as a team went remarkably well. That was, until unexpectedly the door of the last compartment fell shut behind them and all they could do was squeeze themselves into a tiny alcove within the soot coated wall to hide from an unsuspecting engineer’s eyes.

Merrily whistling, the man set to work on the engines, and it was all Flynn could do, not to heave a heavy sigh.

Stuck. With Wyatt’s sharp elbow digging into his stomach, smooshed into the tiniest space available that would fit two grown man.

While at first there had been hope the man would vanish back to where he came from, it soon became clear, that he wouldn’t be done with oiling the engine as swiftly as wished for.

Flynn guessed it must have been at least half an hour, when he shifted his weight for the second time. A jab of Wyatt’s elbow into his abdomen stopped him short.

“Ouch,” he growled, low voice almost drowned out by the engine’s rumble, “what was that for?”

“You’re squishing my face against the wall!” Came the muffled reply. Rolling his eyes, he moved back to his initial position and focused on the now gleefully humming hindrance. The longer he kept watching, the more tempting became the possibility of discreetly disposing of the body over the railing. Just as he ran the scenario through his head, the man gave a satisfied nod, patted his own shoulder – what the hell? – and strolled off and out.

_One, two._ No further movement. _Five, six, seven._ Still nothing. _Nine, ten._ The door stayed closed. Both men spilled out of their narrow hideout into the engine room in utter relief.

Rolling his stiff shoulders, Flynn righted himself.

“We will not speak about this ever again,” he rumbled.

“Deal.”

***

Lucy was pacing the small cabin. Five minutes were tolerable. She could live with that. Ten, alright. But they had been waiting for almost half an hour now and she could no longer suppress her worry. They could have been spotted and locked in for questioning. Or worse - What if they had stumbled upon the sleeper? What if it had been more than just one after all? If he had accomplices? If there had been a fight?  
  
Again, she impatiently sat beside Jiya.  
  
"They'll be fine. They are fine. It's Wyatt and Flynn were talking about, right? They have to be."  
  
Jiya, who sat slouching on the sofa the entire time offered her a meek smile that surely was meant to be comforting. She didn't quite accomplish it.  
It was unfair. To confront her with it. To confront her with any of this. But Jiya was just as essential to their team as each of the men. As herself.  
  
"I'm so sorry," Lucy said, but Jiya waved her off. She really admired her for that. For being so tough and confident, despite the things she was going through. Had been going through over the entirety of three years. And with Rufus’ death-

She was about to speak again, when the door swung open and she was on her feet in an instant.

And there they were. Rumpled and covered in black grime from tip to toe, but well and alive.

“Oh my god,” she exclaimed, torn between worry and amusement, “are you alright?”

“Oh, yeah,” muttered Wyatt.

“Just peachy,” said Flynn.

***

"We can't just sit around, enjoy the view and wait for them to accidently blow their cover!" Lucy exclaimed, irritation evident on her face. One for one, she faced the members of her team. The improvised meeting in their cabin was not going well. None of them had found a clue that brought them further in their investigation on Rittenhouse or any sleeper present in this time. All she and Jiya had witnessed were people going about their tasks or to the lavatory at night.  
  
"Whatever is going on here is not something to stand by and watch enfold! We might be too late then."  
  
They all agreed with that. But there was only so much they could do without causing a ruckus. If they ended up getting locked away for raising suspicions with their behavior – she didn’t want to imagine it, being locked in a room or cell with ice-cold water gathering around her feet.

"So, what are our options then?"  
  
Wyatt looked from one to the other, waiting for constructive suggestions.  
  
It was Jiya, who answered first.  
  
"We could tell an officer. Not about time travel, obviously, but that we overheard there was someone onboard trying to sabotage the voyage. A crewmember we couldn’t identify. And that we’re worried."  
  
Flynn raised a sooty brow.  
  
"And why would they believe that?"  
  
"Because weee... we do have very trusty faces?"

If possible, his brow rose even higher at that and he laced his fingers beneath his chin to prop it up.

“It might be possible,” interjected Wyatt. He leaned back against the foot of the bed and shrugged his shoulders.

“We’re too limited in our actions. Even with five days, four to go, we won’t be able to sneak into every nook and cranny of this ship to find either the sleeper or a hint to Rittenhouse’ objectives. There are at least 2000 people aboard. Still around 900 if we limit it to just the crew. The more eyes, the better.”

One for one, they slowly nodded their agreement.

“It shouldn’t be all of us, though.”

All eyes fixed on Flynn at his words.

“Worst case it’ll shove us straight into the line of fire. We don’t know who’s involved in this affair and revealing our suspicions might set the spotlight straight on us.”

They all fell silent at that.


	5. Chapter 5

Lucy had been aghast by the fact, that both men had managed to get themselves into a vocal fight over the decision to whom would go the honorable task of talking to an officer. In the end they used matches and Wyatt was the one to draw the short stick. Whatever it was the two had been put through in the engine room, it had them both on edge.

Lucy could still sense a fizzle of annoyance in the air, when Wyatt shot a warning glance over her shoulder, before he told her goodbye to go back to his cabin with Jiya.

“You need to stop that,” she chided as she turned to the only other occupant of the room. “Both of you.”

She earned nothing but a grunt in response and gave up on it.

By now it was almost six in the morning and they had come to the mutual agreement, that two more hours of sleep would do them all some good. And she intended to do just that. Rigorously ignoring the sounds of discontent her bunkmate uttered while scrubbing the grime off his face, she climbed onto her bed and wrapped herself into the blanket.

***

As expected, the involvement of authorities did not work out as planned. They had waved them off, almost laughed. One man compromising the entire ship? _Hah!_ Never.

If they only knew.

But it left them without further choice, and they went back to investigating on their own. One by one, busy days passed by and with every night drawing near, the tension grew.

While they socialized with the passengers at day, they spied on the crew at night. But with each late-night meeting arriving, it became clearer.

On the evening of the 13th of April, Lucy sat on Flynn’s bed cross legged beside the man himself, while Jiya lingered on the floor and Wyatt occupied the sofa across the room.

“We’re all thinking it and I’ll say it. I believe we’ve been hoodwinked,” Lucy stated feebly.

“Tomorrow around this time, we’ll collide with the iceberg. And there’s no way to get off this ship, except for the lifeboats. So, either the sleeper will get active then, or the simple reason for Rittenhouse to send us here, is to get rid of us all in one go.”

With a groan, Wyatt rubbed both his palms across his face. It was a possibility to consider. They were the only ones that stood in Rittenhouse’s way. Without the Lifeboat and the team, Agent Christopher and Mason were hogtied. And with the Lifeboat back in Southampton they were stuck on this ship and forced to struggle for life like any other person on board.

Kill the team, pick up the Lifeboat and Rittenhouse had basically won.

They couldn’t – wouldn’t let that happen.

“So, all we’re gonna do is sit this out and try to survive?”

“Certainly not,” said Lucy, tensing at the prospect of impending danger.

She had racked her brain. For days and nights. And no matter how she turned and twisted their situation in her mind, she always came to the same conclusion. She was weary of sitting things out. And she had lived on this ship, got to know so many of its passengers. Hell, she had played squash against some. How could she possibly force herself to do nothing? With a deep breath, she explained herself.

“There are families aboard. Many families. At least one hundred and seven children with their parents. And I know, if we don’t get involved, there will be lifeboats sent out to sea, barely filled half their full capacity. I tell you, if there is anything I can do, to save more lives, I will. And I don’t think any of you could carry the responsibility of watching people die, children lose their parents and the other way around while idly standing by.”

Her words certainly struck a nerve in each of them and she felt sorry for the stab of grief she witnessed in the faces around her. But it was the harsh truth. And if it needed to be said aloud to get them going, she was willing to be the mean one saying it.

“Changing history on our own accord then?” Asked Jiya and Lucy nodded with conviction.

“I’m here now and I’m sick of watching tragedies unfold. If I can save a single life, I will.”

***

Flynn could not imagine anyone of them being able to find some sleep that night. Neither did he. Especially not after Lucy’s speech.

Lying awake and staring up at the slatted frame of her bed, he absentmindedly twisted the silver of his wedding band around his finger.

He turned Lucy's words over in his mind. And how right she was. With everything. In less than twenty four hours the world around them would crumble to debris and terror. There would be people losing friends, loved ones, children all around them. And no matter how hard they tried to help and save them, there was no possibility to save them all. Titanic simply wasn't prepared for a disaster of this magnitude. Not enough lifeboats. No suitably trained personnel. No structure in the evacuation.

He did not spare a thought to the misery awaiting after. It was a touch too personal. Too relatable. He wouldn’t let himself drift into that hailstorm of dread, anguish and guilt again. Not after all these years.

Just as he was about to shut it all out and force himself to rest, her whisper of his name held him back.

It had become their ritual. Laying or slouching around, resting and ‘just talking’. Even before Titanic. And it had deepened over the past few nights.

He liked it.

While they were still always carefully tiptoeing around sensible matters, he came to know her. More than he had before. More than he had ever thought possible after reading through her journal countless times.

It were the details that she shared, that he cherished most. Tiny anecdotes about herself, her sister, her childhood. Muffed birthday parties because the wrong cake had been bought. That one school trip she had been in equal situations of late-night talk. About boys, make-up and stuff, however. The way she liked her coffee.

At first, he’d been the quiet listener, occasionally asking questions, soothing underlying worry as best as he could. But soon he’d found himself opening up as well. No longer resisting and finally willing to let her in.

***

“Flynn?” She murmured into the darkness of their cabin.

His inquiring hum came immediately.

But instead of asking the question that laid burning on her tongue, she remained silent, contemplating if she was willing to lead a conversation with him that would go this deep.

She heard him utter her name curiously. A question, if she was still awake, still willing to talk.

She adored it. The sound of her name as it rolled off his tongue. Pronunciation awkwardly off sometimes, when he was tired or thinking. _Loocy_.

Wavering between pretending she fell asleep and speaking to him, she heard him shift and sit up below. Great. Now that she had him up and confused, she could not leave it at that, could she? Biting her lower lip, she finally brought up the question that kept her awake.

“Are you afraid? Of… tomorrow, I mean?”

He did not respond immediately. But when he spoke, she could sense the utter honesty in his words and it almost made her choke up.

“Of dying? No, not essentially. If it happens, it happens. Sooner or later. - Of living through tomorrow evening? Yes. Terribly so.”

How could he be so calm and collected facing what awaited them? She couldn’t comprehend it. But nevertheless, it had a soothing effect on her. That low rumble of his sincere voice.

Suddenly there was a heavy fear growing deep in her stomach. Of never hearing it again. Never again seeing that mischievous glint in his eyes. Or how the skin around them crinkled when he laughed. Had she ever been paying attention closely enough to preserve it in her memory?

"Would you mind, if I came down to you for a bit?” She asked him, forcing her voice to be silent but steady. If he felt any surprise, he did not show it.

“I don’t mind.”

It didn’t feel wrong at all. Thinking about him like this. She knew fully well what he had done. Gruesome things that should have had her frightened. But right now, right here, they somehow didn’t. Not after he had allowed her to peek behind that rough façade and into the heap of shambles behind. She was no longer afraid of him. She was strangely intrigued instead, drawn to give into his desire to come to know each other better. To gain trust in each other.

So, ignoring her heart picking up its pace, she climbed over the side of her bed and down until she was comfortably sitting by his side. Just like him, she leaned back against the mahogany paneling and crossed her legs beneath her, close enough for her knee to brush his thigh.

“You should be,” she said after a while of silent companionable togetherness.

“Should be what?”

“Afraid of dying.”

A low chuckle rumbled deep in his chest.

“You make it sound like I want to.”

She could see it in his hesitation, in the flicker of his eyes first to her face and then elsewhere, that despite his try to keep the mood light, he was tense. She knew he had been at that point. He had told her so, when she had confronted him about the journal. That day back in São Paulo that she had yet to live through. There was no reason to talk about it again and prod sore spots. Instead she carefully picked up his impish tone.

“Don’t you _dare_ …”

“Alright,” he acceded. “I’ll try not to.”

She almost smacked his chest for that, just in time remembering that his shoulder still must be aching. In lieu thereof she nudged his leg with her knee.

“I’ll hold you to that, Garcia Flynn. Don’t you ever dare die on me.”

She witnessed his lips curl upwards in the dark of their room. And there was a warmth in his gaze, that silently chased away all demons lingering in the shadows.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, this chapter was quite the challenge to write. I hope it does satisfy expectation, though. Have fun reading! :)

Dazedly Lucy blinked into the semi-darkness of the room. Not quite conscious, the temptation of snuggling closer into the source of cozy warmth beside her was very alluring. But when a soft snore reached her ears, her eyes snapped wide open.

Forcing herself not to scramble away and disturb the man beside her, she gently, carefully raised her cheek from his shoulder and inched away enough to look at his face.

Almost she expected him to open one eye, slyly grin and startle her with some mischievous comment. Instead she found him truly soundly asleep and for once, looking incredibly innocent. Sunken back against the wooden paneling of the wall, long legs dangling off the bed, he was not quite snoring, just breathing deeply. And she almost grimaced in embarrassment at the realization that it was, despite his crooked position and the backpain it would probably cause, endearingly adorable.

All lines of worry evened out on his handsome face, he looked so young and at peace with the world around him. Was this, she marveled, the Garcia Flynn one would have met before Rittenhouse had forced entry into his house and taken away his life?

Ruffling her unruly hair and soothing it back, Lucy wondered if she should wake him. She decided against it and she silently stood, felt across her mattress for her blanket and draped it over his body, for he was securely sitting on his own.

If she thought about it, she never had witnessed him so fast asleep. Dozed off or claimed by exhaustion, yes, quite a few times, but this dead to the world was new.

She decided to give him some privacy. Leave him a few more peaceful minutes until harsh reality got its fangs on him once again.

Thus, she dressed herself, always keeping an eye on his sleeping form to not accidentally put on a show, and slipped out of the room light-footed.

***

When she came back with two cups of coffee, which she had sneaked away from the breakfast lounge, Flynn was already up and about, fixing his bowtie in front of the mirror and offering her a warm smile, as she placed one cup on the vanity beside him.

“Thank you for the coffee. And the ‘just talking’,” he echoed her own words roguishly and she rolled her eyes at him.

“You’re such a child sometimes. You know that, right?”

He chortled in response.

What a shame. She had been looking forward to turning the tables and witness his startled reaction to being stared at while sleeping. But other matters were more important than their continuous banter. A glance to her watch wiped the smile clean off her face. Eleven hours to go, before the inevitable occurred.

They had devoted this last day on the ship to the 3rd class. With it harboring the people with least access to vital parts of the vessel or its command structure, the 3rd class passengers were unlikely to be compromised by Rittenhouse. There was nothing they could possibly gain by placing a sleeper between tourists and emigrants. Many of them weren’t even capable of speaking English fluently. Nevertheless, curiosity and rigor had them pry into it anyways.

After washing up and gathering Wyatt and Jiya from their cabin, they set straight for the barricade dividing the ship into classes and they slipped through it without much trouble.

But there wasn’t much to investigate around here.

Down-to-earth people were strolling the corridors and as they entered the saloon around midday, they were greeted with laughter and music. It was a harsh contrast to the stiff atmosphere of the first classes’ renowned personalities and upper-class posh.

A strange feeling of being at home was probably the best description one could come up with roaming these segments of the ship. Especially with all the children playing between chattering adults.

They spent the remaining time of the day among these people, hopes of finding anything connected to Rittenhouse diminishing with each passing hour. And when the sun began to set, they found their way back into the saloon - Just in time to witness, how tables were cleared away to make some room. Finding themselves four vacated chairs on the side, they settled and watched the people gather. A moment later, music set in. Far off across the room a ragtag band had converged, playing merry tunes on shabby instruments and it was outright infectious.

“You know what,” said Jiya, watching the happy faces all around them with a mixture of sorrow and longing.

“I’m sick of waiting for disaster. And since we’re stuck here - Whatever better time can we find to live for once. Who knows how long we’ve got?”

And with a deep breath, she was up and mingled into the crowd, swept away by the dancing and laughing.

Lucy could only imagine what went through Jiya’s head these days. The loss of Rufus had hit her hard, despite her sensing that it had been inevitable. And she could fully relate to her need of distraction. Especially with what laid before them. Perish the thought, chances were that this _could_ be the very last evening all four of them spent together!

She brought that train of thought to a screeching halt and abandoned it. No, she wasn’t willing to accept that.

Before Lucy had the chance to stand and follow Jiya to end her brooding, a young man stepped into her line of vision. Grinning from ear to ear and positively dashing, he offered his hand.

“May I?”

And Lucy found herself agreeing with her friend even more. It was enough. Enough vodka, enough overthinking and enough suffering. She was here now. And she was still alive. And she took the youngsters hand with a smile. Glancing over her shoulder as she followed him into the open space, she got a glimpse of protest in Wyatt’s eyes and, surprisingly enough, sober mirth in Flynn’s.

***

Flynn observed her turning and twisting to the cheerful tunes, carried along by the lead of this stranger. There was no sense of jealousy. Not to this youngster. Instead he found himself tapping his foot in time with the music and slowly the trepidation of oncoming events eased away. Jiya was right. With what was laying behind and ahead of them, what would they gain wasting their time on fretting over it.

In the spur of the moment, throwing remaining doubt overboard, he vacated his chair and strode straight through the crowd.

Reaching Lucy, he courteously cleared his throat, catching her partner’s attention as he went. The younger man’s gaze flickered from his face to Flynn’s offered hand and he understood without the exchange of words. A knowing (and mildly apologetic) grin skittered across his face and he laid Lucy’s hand straight into Flynn’s before disappearing among the twirling couples.

Stroking the rough pad of his thumb over the soft skin of her palm, Flynn inclined his head and rose his brow.

“Miss Preston?”

Obviously afflicted by the contagious buoyancy around them, she laughed. The mere sound of it made him painfully aware that he truly felt _alive_ for once in a very long time.

***

Prodding Flynn’s side with her elbow and catching her breath, Lucy made her way back to their seats beside him.

“I didn’t know you could dance like that. - At least didn’t expect you to.”

He chuckled lowly as he nudged her back.

“I’m not that stiff.”

At that she sobered up and while he was contemplating if he had said something wrong, her face brightened again.

“You know what, Flynn?” She said, watching him carefully.

A low hum of acknowledgement.

“I take it back.”

“What?”

“What I said in that hotel back in 1963. You are not delusional. I… I do enjoy having you around on missions.”

But the gruff snicker died in his throat as he raised his gaze and stared straight into the barrel of a gun. So, there _was_ a sleeper on board.

“There you are.”

Instinctively Flynn’s arm went around Lucy, pushing her behind his body and shielding her from view. He scanned the room – found their chairs abandoned. Where was Wyatt when you actually needed him?

A series of strangled gasps around them ended the music effectively and people shuffled away from the threatening weapon.

But soon Flynn realized that they had been outsmarted. The uniformed man pointing his firearm straight at his chest was by no means trying to execute him here and now. Not moving his finger from the trigger, he turned to the people around them.

“Stand back please. We’ve been informed that there are stowaways on board. Dangerous people. Two of them, a man and a woman, are still on the run. So please go back to your quarters and remain there until you are further informed by personnel. If you see somebody suspicious, please report to a staff member or officer immediately.”

An anxious murmur went through the crowd at this revelation.

He turned back to Flynn and grimly nodded towards the door.

“If you would now accompany me without further resistance. You’ll be taken into custody until we arrive on New York's West Side piers. You’ll be transferred to the police then.”

Slowly raising his hands, Flynn turned his head, glanced over his shoulder, gauged their chances. Two equally equipped men behind him had their guns pointed at them. If he reached for his own, he would worst be shot dead within seconds. If he dived away, he risked Lucy. If he complied, he at least could hope for Jiya and Wyatt to get them out before – well, before an icy death awaited them.

“ _Sir._ ”

Growling, he turned back and followed outside, Lucy close by his side.

***

Behind bars. _Again_.

Gritting his teeth, Flynn strained against his shackles, the metal digging deep into his wrists. It wouldn’t get him out of his bonds, but it was a welcome sensation to keep his temper in check. He was pacing again. A predator confined into a tiny space, steadily wearing trails into the ground beneath his feet.

The soft touch of Lucy’s hand against his forearm bitterly reminded him of her presence. There had been nothing in her journal about being locked in. Not a word. Why, of all things, had she chosen to leave this bit out? He would have been glad knowing, or at least being able to guess, how to escape this damned cell. Of course, there was always the possibility of a different development of their situation. The journal was not always reliable. He had figured that out the hard way.

“About ten minutes…” She whispered with a glance to her watch.

“Do you think they’ll make it here in time?”

Oh, how he’d have loved to tell her _yes_. To take away her fear. But all he could do was pace, wait and worry.

“Excuse me,” he said aloud. “Not that I’d think you’d believe me, but we’re not the people who should be locked in here.”

Despite the ire chipping away at his composure, he forced his voice to drip with courtesy.

The guard, a burly man, around his thirties probably, shrugged without so much as sparing a single glance at him.

“You fit the description perfectly well. Tall, dark hair, talking with an accent, traveling with a woman. And you carried a gun.”

“And whose description was that?”

Now the guard turned, arms crossed, and brows raised.

“I don’t see why you should know that.”

Flynn raised his shoulders and let them drop, feigning an innocent smile.

“Not much I can do with the information, is there?”

He lifted his shackled hands in front of his chest to underline his statement.

“Just curious who I owe this lovely new quarters to.”

At least his words earned him a snicker in response. And, thankfully, it obscured the flurry of movement behind the man’s back, before an iron rod hit the back of his neck and he dropped unconscious - Just to reveal a severely disheveled Jiya behind him.

“ _Jiya!_ ” Gasped Lucy and out of the corner of his eye, Flynn saw her hand snap to her mouth. Was it shock or relief? He wasn’t quite sure.

In his case it _was_ relief.

“Don’t just stand there! Get us out of here!” He bellowed and Jiya seemed to snap from her sudden petrification.

“Right, yes, keys,” she mumbled, dropped to her knees and pried the wad of keys from the unconscious man at her feet.

Willing herself to be steady and calm, but failing it miserably, she hurried to the door and pushed one key after another into the lock until it clicked. A relieved smile skittered over her pale face, as she swung the door open.

With trembling fingers, she repeated the action on Flynn’s shackles and dropped the key when she was done. With a grateful nod, he rubbed his sore wrists. The guards had not bothered with restraining Lucy. To them, she hadn’t seemed to pose any possible threat.

“Wyatt’s already after him. He’s searching our rooms- That’s why he tried to lock us up. No time for us to escape before the disaster. Enough time for him to go through our things for anything interesting,” Jiya hurried to explain while they stormed out of the prison cell and Flynn retrieved his gun from the locker it had been thrown in.

There was no need for further explanation. She was talking about the sleeper. A single man, telling from what she said.

“Alright,” said Flynn, “fill us in while we catch up to Wyatt.”

He was about to bolt out, as Lucy grasped his sleeve and he followed her gaze to the unconscious guard on the ground.

“What about him?”

These were exactly the times he was grateful for being able to shut out his emotions efficiently. While the poor guy obviously had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, there was no way for them to drag him along. Casualties would always occur where Rittenhouse was at work. 

“Leave him.”

***

Jiya filled them in as they hastened through abandoned corridors to catch up to Wyatt in their quarters. The sleeper was one of the two Masters-At-Arms. Thereof resulting in their beweaponed arrest and his influence on the guards.

Jiya had spotted and overheard them discussing their actions before entering the saloon. While she had been able to discreetly whisk away Wyatt before they got hold of them, Flynn and Lucy had been surrounded by dancing pairs and impossible to reach or warn before the guards had encircled them.

Therefore, Wyatt and Jiya had watched them be arrested in dismay before they had had the presence of mind to split up and save the day. Wyatt had chosen to go after the sleeper, who was headed straight for their cabins, while Jiya had taken it upon herself to free her friends from their restraints.

It was obvious by then that Rittenhouse was aiming to find whatever compromising information was hidden in their personal quarters. Anything that could be held against them. And for once, Lucy was very relieved that she had left the journal on her bed in the bunker in their hasty departure.

An action she had doubted before. First, because she could have used the time on her hands to search it for a chance to bring Rufus back and secondly because everything they left at home was prone to be changed with every event in the past they became involved with. Flynn, who was the only one to have read through it thoroughly, would be the only one remembering it then. Which was better than nothing, but still not good.

When they reached Jiya’s and Wyatt’s cabin, they found the room ravaged.

Pillows, blankets, clothing and random items laid strewn over the floor. Pillowcases had been sliced open, mattresses were lying skewed in their frames. Drawers had been pulled out and their contents scattered among the general chaos. Thankfully neither Jiya nor Wyatt had taken personal items along, so there was nothing within the debris the culprit could have taken.

Just as they set off to the other cabin, it happened.

***

The crashing sound was deafening. The impact almost swept Flynn off his feet. Fiercely colliding backwards into the sharp doorframe, he caught Lucy against his chest and Jiya’s arm in his right hand. Wheezing for air, he pulled her upright and shook her once, until Jiya’s panicked gaze focused on his own.

“Hurry!”, he mouthed, his voice drowned out by the groaning noise of bending steel.

Steadying himself on the quaking floor, he ushered them forward. There was no turning back now. No wasting time. They had to _move_.

***

Leaving the mess behind, they headed for the room Lucy herself had occupied with Flynn and as they turned the corner, noises of rampage and panic above the general rumble indicated the sleeper was rummaging through their room now. They almost collided face first into Wyatt, who dashed in their direction.

“There you are!” He breathed in relief and his eyes ran over Lucy in a quick check to make sure nothing was amiss.

“He’s brought himself some helpers. Four men in total, all armed. Sleeper’s the tall, brawny one. Blonde.” He sputtered, before turning again. He must have waited for Flynn to join him before going in, reasoned Lucy. Even with Wyatt being an experienced soldier - Four armed men against just one in a narrow space on shaking ground was a risk to reassess, given the fact that neither of them had taken anything of personal value to this trip.

It was debatable if it was necessary to take the sleeper out at all. What could he do now anyways? If he didn’t succeed in getting rid of them here, he had failed his assignment. On the other hand - An ambush on one of the lifeboats or among the survivors on _Carpathia_ was something that would be wise to be avoided.

So, she did as she was instructed and anxiously stayed with Jiya, as both men bolted off to eradicate yet another member of Rittenhouse.

***

They lunged into battle unheralded. The clock was ticking and what was there to discuss - Take out the sleeper, his assistance if necessary, secure their departure and get the hell out of here.

Gun drawn and unlocked, Flynn marched though the door – just to be greeted by a rough blow onto his arms by something he vaguely recognized as a chair leg.

Stubbornly holding onto his weapon, he ducked away, successfully avoiding another hit. The splintering crack of wood over his head signaled the close miss and he swiped out his leg by intuition.

Hitting his opponents shins forcefully, he sent him crashing onto the ground face first. With a single accurate shot, he was done away.

Swiftly scanning the scene, he spotted Wyatt struggling against a huge blonde - The sleeper. Another one closing in. With a roar Flynn leaped into action.

A few minutes and a severe punch to his cheek later, Flynn stood back to back with Wyatt, both huffing, and wiped the blood off his split lip with his sleeve. Its salty metallic taste had become far too familiar by now.

Rolling his shoulders and straightening, he stepped over a body and out of the room. Wyatt in tow.

***

Another rumble and groan ran through the walls and floor as the vessel strained under the impact. And Lucy could not prevent herself from imagining it. Waves of dirty water lapping on her ankles, burning her skin and taking her breath. Abruptly everything went numb and Lucy’s brain quit service in warning her from rising levels of panic. She felt set back. Set back to that terrible day she had been trapped under water in that car. She felt her throat constricting, her heart hammering against her ribs in a desperate attempt to keep the blackness from creeping into her vision. Trancelike, she sensed the touch of a hand on her cheek, someone taking her hand. _Wyatt_.

“Lucy! Breathe!”

Unfocused gaze sharpening, she remembered Harry Houdini.

_Clear your mind. Breathe. Escape._

And she was back to reality, sprinting down the corridor along Wyatt, her feet rapidly hitting the carpeted floor - not yet flooded but soon to be. _Escape!_

Sudden realization hit her then and had her stop short, Jiya almost running her over as she skidded into her back. Righting herself and resisting against Wyatt’s iron grip, she screamed.

“Wyatt! _Stop!_ ”

He turned around sharp, staring at her askance, alarm evident on his pale face.

“Third class! Passages are locked and – most are failed to be opened! The people there!”

It was enough to make him understand. They had seen the barricades between classes, snuck through them in their investigation. Now those locked doorways would hinder the rescue of so many lives! Before she could speak again, Wyatt nodded, firmly and just once. Exchanging a single glance with Flynn, he dashed off into the opposite direction.

Realizing his intention, she set after him in an instant.

“Wyatt! _Wyatt, no!_ ”

But large hands grabbed her, urged her on. And even if she succeeded in fighting herself free off Flynn’s control, she knew there was no chance of catching up to Wyatt in this labyrinth of corridors, turns and terror.

***

When they reached the boat deck, it looked like all hell had broken loose. Large gatherings of frightened people were crowding the davits along the railing and between cries and yells one could make out the desperate crowing of poorly trained seaman - struggling to maintain control over the situation. It reminded Flynn more of a battlefield than an evacuation. And it was _truly_ absolutely terrifying.

What happened after dissolved into a blur of adrenalin. Bolting into action, Flynn shoved himself through groups of people, utilizing his thunder of a voice to gain attention. And one by one, blending out the dread around him, he aided in filling the boats to a capacity they were meant for. 65 lives. Each leaving boat.

He heard Lucy and Jiya by his side. Each of them bravely guiding people into the boats, into rescue. Smoothing down differences and fighting for families to stay together as they went. And he couldn’t remember when he’d last felt such a surge of fierce pride to be working with this tiny group of formidable people.

Hence, when the time came for the last lifeboat to be filled, he did not waste a second to order them into the boat. He could see the retort, the argument bubbling behind Lucy’s determined glare. She knew exactly that he would not - would _never_ take a seat to safety if there were still children around, clinging to their mother’s skirt in fear. Their dispute, however, never had a chance to unfold, when a hand grabbed his coat to get his attention.

“You!” A man, telling from his sooty face probably a stoker, bellowed against the noise around them. “Can you sail one of these?”

Flynn’s gaze flickered to the boat, to Lucy and back to the man. In a firm nod, he inclined his head.

***

The _Carpathia_ had been immersed in chaos over the past few hours. Seaman had been struggling to keep onlookers at bay, while simultaneously tending to hundreds of traumatized survivors. Families and friends had been trying to find each other in the confusion. There was screaming. There were children crying. It was worse than one could ever imagine.

Now, hours after the frenzied rescue, the ruckus had died down. It was eerily silent.

To her own horror, Lucy did not feel like crying. She felt… nothing. Utterly empty. Lonely. And so very tired.

This was by far their worst encounter with history. Jumping straight into Rittenhouse’s trap. And there was still all the way back to Southampton lying ahead. If they all made it back home safely, she would never set foot on a ship ever again.

She did not flinch when a woolen blanket was draped over her shivering shoulders. Neither did she, when she felt the warmth of another human body beside her own.

“You alright?”

She nodded faintly. What else could she do? Nothing was alright and he knew it just as well. No matter how hard they’d worked, there still was death and loss and speechless horror all around them. And they would deal with it. They always did.

It was little short of a miracle that all four of them were still alive. She had seen Wyatt helping to tend to the terrified people after they’d been gathered from the sea. As far as she knew, he had been one of the civilians ordered to row a boat. Now he was wet and pale and shivering. But he was alive.

As was Jiya, who wasn’t sitting too far away from them, wrapped in a blanket herself and comforting the young mother by her side as good as she could manage.

And then there was Flynn. The constant source of warmth and courage beside her. Having left her side just once in search of the blanket that she was now cocooned in, she felt him reach around her, pull her close against his body. She let him and buried into the comfort he offered through such simple gestures.

When she raised her head and found his gaze, she did not squander a single thought to the damned journal, to consequences. To anything but the roiling gale of emotions in his eyes. There was compassion, anguish, and so much admiration.

She heard the rustle of his coat as he leaned in, felt the tickle of his messy fringe on her forehead and his breath feathering across her skin.

Then he was there with her, the softness of his lips barely brushing against her own. His touch so very gentle, almost shy. Quietly asking for her consent. And before she knew what was happening, she found herself melting into his warmth.

Burying her fingers into the lapels of his coat, she pulled him impossibly closer. His arms tightened around her, and she felt his hands roam her back, his fingers run through her hair, sooth away the pain and the icy cold. And she kissed him back. Again. And again. And again.

***

That morning he was stirred from sleep by the sound of movement around him. Dimly he remembered utter exhaustion had claimed his consciousness despite his efforts to stay alert. Dazedly blinking into the dull morning light, Flynn recognized his surroundings and the night’s events drifted back into his blurry memory.

People we’re ranging between the huddled groups and pairs of survivors through the saloon. Breakfast was given out in cups and bowls. With a grateful bow of his head, he readily accepted a cup of fresh water and downed half of it avidly. The other half he saved for the occupant of his embrace.

A small smile crept across his face, as he tenderly ran his fingers through her tangled dark locks. Curled in his lap, her face nestled against the side of his neck, was Lucy. Beautiful, strong, impressive Lucy. - Still soundly asleep and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Giving in to the temptation, he buried his nose into her hair and let his eyes flutter closed once more.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go: The last chapter of 'Filling empty pages'. But do not fret, part 2 is on the way. The first chapter of 'Another way' will be posted today! After that, I'll post another chapter every Saturday. :) Let's get Rufus back and do it right this time! No horrible self-sacrifices for Flynn! (or anyone else as long as I have a say in this matter...)

Their journey back to Southampton went smoothly as one could wish for. After the survivors had been brought to New York on the _Carpathia_ , they had been welcomed by aid groups and offered a trip back home as soon as authorities could respond. None of them had been overjoyed by the prospect of boarding another ship, but the voyage was quiet and absurdly peaceful.

Flynn, however, was taken aback by Lucy’s sudden change of heart. Once they had departed and stepped onto dry land, it felt like being around a different person. She was friendly, yes, trusting even. But withdrawn.

And while he could, partly thanks to the journal, fully understand her, would never even think of pushing her, he still felt the pang of pain in his chest that he wasn’t willing to acknowledge as such.

At the offer of a cabin meant for four, she eagerly accepted, which was utterly welcome, given the new circumstances.

At night, when they saved themselves into talking about anything and everything to lighten the mood, he reserved himself from conversations. He found consolation in the harsh reality, that he’d known it all along. Still he was wordlessly chiding himself for hoping, and once again, the inscrutable mask was back in place.

***

With a rumble and a rough thud, the Lifeboat landed.

 _Home_.

Tapering the familiar feeling of nausea masterfully, Lucy clambered from her seat and ducked through the round hatch.

Connor was already there, carting the metal flight of stairs closer until it hit the Lifeboats hull with a dull clink. With his expectant gaze a smile broke across her face. The temptation of taking two steps at a time was overwhelming, but she contained her excitement of finally being back in her own time.

“Welcome back.”

Agent Christopher’s voice carried across the room from the console desk.

“Is everybody alright?”

Lucy nodded in relief and made room for Wyatt to follow her down to the floor.

“What about the sleeper?” Agent Christopher asked as she joined them, mirroring Lucy’s relief, barely concealed behind a wall of professionalism.

Wyatt stepped down the stairs from behind, close enough to brush Lucy’s shoulder.

“We took him out. After all it was a trap. They wanted us gone, if possible, in one go. So they lured us onto that ship and placed him there just in case one of us was trying to make an escape on one of the lifeboats.”

A shadow of worry swept over the older woman’s face and she ran a hand through her hair to stroke back some loose strands.

“Well, I’m glad you’re all well then. Anything else? Any intel?”

Wyatt just shook his head and when he spoke, disappointment was achingly audible in his voice.

“Nothing.”

Lucy wondered if he’d been hoping to gather some information on Jessica. For all that they knew, she still was out there with Rittenhouse. Wyatt had seen her escape. She suddenly felt the need to reach out for him, hold him, as if it could sooth away the pain that lingered in the blue of his eyes.

She was still angry with him. That he had chosen Jessica over herself while still absurdly trying to maintain the relationship with her. And for keeping secrets, that might have prevented Rufus from dying. But she knew him too well by now and it was out of the question that he’d ever meant to harm anybody. If it had been Amy standing on their threshold, she was sure, she would have done the same. She had done so with her mother after all. Naively believing that there still was some good in her.

And then there was his sudden confession of love. Belatedly so, but utterly honest.

Her arms, however, remained by her sides until a clap of hands from behind startled her from her reverie.

“Hello, excuse me. Would you mind? I’m a tad bit tired and if the ladies and the gentleman would just take one tiny step aside, I’d be _very_ grateful.”

Frowning she turned to find Flynn still standing on the staircase, leaning against the handrail, effectively blocked from passing them. The annoyance of his snide remark cut deep into her, but she forced herself to step back and let him through. “Sorry.”

Had she been too harsh on him in the previous days? But what choice had there been. With Jiya and especially Wyatt so close around them, it’d only have ended in an outrage. While both of them trusted him concerning missions now, they certainly did not quite classify him as a friend. An ally, yes. But that was it. Any kind of relationship further than that was beyond debatable.

And if she was honest with herself, it wasn’t just group dynamics that kept her from coming closer to him. It was fear. Not of him. But of commitment. She didn’t exactly have a lucky streak in that aspect lately. If one considered the out-of-nowhere engagement to a man she had never seen before or the wife coming back from the dead, she seemed rather jinxed. Now, that the rush and adrenaline of impending danger had subsided and the burden of taking down Rittenhouse was back in place, she didn’t deem it particularly reasonable to be distracted by another failure of a relationship. Or whatever this was.

“Welcome back, Flynn,” she heard Denise say, obviously unfazed by the man’s sass.

“Glad to be, Sir,” he responded with a mocking salute and strode off into the direction of his room without as much as a glance back.

With a heavy sigh, Lucy watched him go. As soon as they’d be done with their report, she’d pay him a visit to talk things out. At least that she owed him.

***

After they had given a detailed report to Denise, Lucy had retreated into the safety of the room she was now occupying - Wyatt had generously offered to take the couch for a few days - to think things over. What she was greeted with was the journal, still lying on her pillow. Just like she had left it before their departure.

Somehow, its mere presence was suddenly very disconcerting and the thought of picking it up to read, had her shiver. She grabbed it and laid it onto the nightstand. Just to take it minutes later and shove it into one of the lockers instead.

 _Far from the eye, far from the heart_ , some might say, but in her case, it was the other way around. The less she tried to think about it, the more her thoughts began to circle around that unfortunate little booklet. How had Flynn managed to read through it all? More than once from what he had let on. He even _memorized_ some of the passages!

And she could hardly will herself to even glance at its cover. First because it achingly remembered her of her twisted mother. And secondly because intuition told her it contained information that she was better off not knowing about beforehand.

She would force herself to read through it. Later. For Rufus. For Jiya. For their fight against Rittenhouse. But before that, she needed to get her own thoughts in order.

***

It was late evening, that Lucy could muster her courage and leave her room to find Flynn. The distance across the hall to his room all at once seemed to stretch miles apart. Shaking her head over her own immature hesitation, she silently padded down the hallway to his doorstep. There, she raised her hand and forced herself to rap her knuckles softly against the metal door. The _clang, clang_ of her fingers hitting the surface seemed much too loud against the nocturnal stillness engulfing their base. The grip around the bottle’s neck in her other hand tightened considerably.

Just a tiny moment later, the door clicked open to reveal a severely disheveled Garcia Flynn. His rumpled shirt and sweatpants, just as his tousled hair, gave away that he’d been in bed seconds ago. Probably asleep. Maybe she should have waited for the next morning to pay him a visit.

“ _Lucy,_ ” he cooed, tilting his head as he studied her appearance. She had taken a shower earlier and dressed in a too big woolen sweater and the comfiest leggings she owned. Anything to get a bit more comfortable in this weird life she was leading now.

“To what do I owe the honor of this sudden late-night visit?”

She took a steadying breath, looking anywhere but his questing eyes.

“C’mon, let me in already.”

Waiting a second too long for her frayed nerves, he licked his lower lip and took one step aside, giving her access into his private quarters.

Cautiously she pushed herself past him without raising her gaze from the floor. It was hard to tell what went on in his mind. Oh, she could hardly tell what was going on in her own head at the moment. How would she be able to discern what he was going through?

Slowly she took a few steps into his room, uncertain if she should sit down or just stand still to confront him. But could she do that to him? Stand here, ready to run, when she was about to speak of such sensible matters?

Sheepishly she rubbed the fabric of the sweater covering her arm.

„We’re back to vodka then, I see.”

Startled by the sudden sound of his voice in her back, she spun round to face him.

This time, she found the courage to look straight into his appraising eyes.

He just stood there, arms crossed, an aura of aloofness surrounding him, and he observed her. Waiting for her to speak up.

But his snarky statement left her speechless. Awkwardly she raised the bottle to her chest, as if it would explain her intentions by itself, while she stumbled for words.

“I just thought-“

“Was it so awful with me that you turn to drinking again?”

His out of the blue question caught her off guard. Gawking at him, her brain struggled to formulate a reasonable reply.

Mouth still agape in consternation, she promptly shook her head.

“ _No!_ No, no. You weren’t- It wasn’t that bad-“

He rose a brow.

“Not at all. On the contrary. What I was trying to say-“

Was that a twitch, there at the corners of his mouth? The touch of a grin?

It dawned on her and she snapped her mouth shut, just to open it again in bafflement.

Just as he saw it click in place within her mind, he couldn’t help himself from chuckling and the now so familiar sound eased all her tension away.

Shaking her head again, she let her hand, along with bottle, drop to her side.

“You’re unbelievable,” she scolded, fully aware that her heart was now pounding against her ribs for another reason.

„That, I am.”

There was still a sly smile playing around the corners of his lips, as he indicated for her to sit down on his bed.

„Please, have seat. You can hand your peace offering to me.”

Defeated, she took up on his offer, handed him the bottle of vodka and let herself sink onto the edge of his cot.

He turned to grab two glasses from the table, filled them half and joined her a moment later. Not on the shabby armchair, like last time, but right by her side. The tiny realization made her heart flutter. Why did it make her _heart flutter_?

„I’m sorry for… for putting you off until now.”

With an appreciative nod, she took one of the glasses he offered and thoughtfully watched as he swirled the clear fluid in his. Tearing her eyes away from the glass in his large hand, she carried on.

“It was all… a bit much, once we reached mainland. And with the others around.”

Even though he did not reply, she knew from the long exhale he breathed, that he understood. For a while (and a refill of her glass), they just sat in companionable silence and she drowned her uncertainty in little sips of alcohol. The burning sensation loosened her tongue.

“Did you know?” She asked him, twiddling her fingers around her glass. “About Titanic and... that we’d end up here?”

She had wondered about that for quite some time now. Ever since he had shown her that cursed leather-bound notebook, her own handwriting scribbled all over its worn-out pages, she had speculated what he knew. About herself. About her life and her family. About everything that surrounded her.

At first it had been absolutely disconcerting and the easiest way to deal with it was to deny its authenticity. Now, that she believed that some future version of herself might have written it, well, it had become even more terrifying.

It felt almost threatening. It felt as if once she read into it, the events described would become inevitable. And while she did not know, not read, there was the illusion of choice.

Bracing herself, she raised her gaze and saw the gears turning in his head, while he weighed one answer against the other.

Eventually he straightened himself and coughed once to clear his throat.

“Yes and no. I read about it. In your journal, of course. But I couldn’t really imagine it. Well, I could. Quite vividly.”

She elbowed him and he went on unfazed.

“But I couldn’t imagine it _actually happening_.”

Thoughtfully, she watched him take another sip of vodka. There it was again. That soothing feeling of comfort in his honesty. She had spent so much time running away from him. Let herself be intimidated by him. By his presence alone. Now it was this very same presence that calmed her.

Now, that she uncovered what laid buried beneath those layers, with each meeting, with every conversation, it became harder to imagine that she had ever believed that this man - this remarkable, sometimes brazen, deep-down kindhearted man – would have been able to kill his own family. Today, all this time after she had thrown this accusation straight into his face, she finally felt truly and utterly sorry for it. 

Never mind the worries about relationships, here she went again, enjoying their closeness and not quite willing to extract herself from it. Giving in to her emotions, subtly enhanced by alcohol, she let her head sink against his shoulder.

She felt him shift against her. Only slightly. As to turn his head to get a glimpse on what she was doing. But she remained as she was.

 _I am sorry,_ she was about to say, _for what I’ve said to you. For all the misunderstandings. For all those times we could have helped each other and have not._

But he was the one to speak first.

“Hm?”, she said, unintelligibly, and he asked a second time.

“How far did you read?”

Frowning, she tried to remember the exact line. She couldn’t. After she had lived through their Titanic voyage, it was hard to differentiate between the actual memories and the few bits she had known through the journal beforehand. Eventually she shrugged her shoulders and took another big sip of her vodka.

“Just as far as Titanic. I didn’t – couldn’t bring myself to read further. Is that bad?”

She felt him inhale deeply, then exhale in a tired sigh.

“Not essentially. I don’t know. Depends.”

“Depends on what?”

Curiously she tipped her head back against his shoulder and studied his serene expression.

“Depends on what you expect or hope for.”

“Great. Thanks for the advice then.”

Sensing the rumbling vibration of his chuckle, she closed her eyes.

“You know what? Right now, I don’t care. I’m glad to be right where I am.”

The soft press of his lips against her hair told her: So was he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone following me through this story so far! And for all your kudos and kind feedback! You really keep me motivated! :)


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